In her dream, the face of the Norseman hovered above her, alternating between that of tender lover and vengeful enemy. He smirked down at her as he had after the kiss, only this time she was not offended. Her fingers traced the outline of that smile as he pulled one fingertip into his mouth. She gasped and pulled it away. He laughed and knelt to kiss her again. When she followed his progress, she realised they were in her bed, not in the straw, and he was lying between her naked thighs.
The shock of it jolted her away, making her sit straight up in bed as if she would find him there. Her heart raced and even though she knew that she was still in her nightclothes and that it had been a dream, she reached for the seax that usually sat at her waist. Not the dagger she had worn to take the Norseman captive, but the shorter, blunter one she wore daily.
It was not at her waist. Of course it was not. She was in bed and it was deep in the night. Her candle had long since sputtered out. The seax was in the chest where it was meant to be. She tried to let that thought soothe her back to sleep, but something nudged at the back of her mind. Something important. It hovered there, just out of reach, and all the more insistent because of it.
Was the seax in the chest where it belonged? She mentally retraced her movements of the evening. She had no memory of putting it away, nor of taking it off. Had Goda removed it and put it away? Annis could not remember. She had been so preoccupied with her thoughts about the kiss that she barely remembered interacting with Goda at all.
Rising from the bed, she hurried over to the chest that kept them. There were three inside and she traded them out depending on her mood for the day. Pushing the lid open, she peered into the shadowy interior. It was too dark to see very well, so she used her hands to find them. A sigh escaped her when she found the bundle all lying together. One, two... Where was the third?
Her heart pounded and dread settled heavy in the pit of her stomach. The Norseman had held her down, but he had not taken the seax. She was certain that she would have noticed him taking it. But then her thoughts had been preoccupied with his kiss. A quick search of her chamber revealed that it was missing.
Had he stolen it? She closed her eyes and allowed herself to remember everything that had happened in his cell. It might have happened at any point during the struggle that preceded the kiss. When she had left, she had been too unsettled to think clearly, much less search him for the seax.
The blackguard!
Drawing on a cloak, she grabbed her long dagger off the wall. If the Norseman had her seax, then he could free himself. If it came to it and she could not recapture him, then she would kill him herself. She had no alternative. It was a choice that would haunt her for the rest of her life, but it must be done. The danger to everyone around her was too great to allow him the chance to get free. She could not allow him to harm Wilfrid or anyone else at Mulcasterhas.
The fact that he was the only man she had felt anything for since Grim could not sway her. She opened the door to her chamber that faced out to the courtyard, ignoring the cold blast of air. There was no guard here because they were all posted along the outside walls of the house. The night was still dark, but a single torch gave off a watery light. Wilfrid’s chamber was directly across from her. The double doors were closed, but a flicker of light could be seen in the tiny crack between them. He frequently did not sleep well and Cedric or his manservant generally attended him overnight. But some instinct drew her closer to his chamber.
She walked silently along the tiled path, her gaze on the crack between the doors. Male voices came from inside. She instantly recognised Wilfrid’s. After a series of brain attacks had left him weak on one side of his body, he could still talk, but his words came out as if he were speaking around a mouthful of wool. But the other voice was too low to be Cedric and not quite as deep as Irwin, the strong manservant who attended to Wilfrid.
Bracing herself for what she might find, she pushed the door open and crossed the threshold with her long dagger before her. Wilfrid looked up from the seat he occupied at his table and gave her his customary crooked smile with a cry of enthusiasm to see her. The table game hnefatafl was set up before him.
The Norseman sat across from him.
Annis arrived as if he had somehow summoned her. Her eyes were wide and fear filled. He knew a strange urge to call to her and soothe that fear, but it did not make sense given their predicament. She should be afraid. He would have to kill her if it came to it, wouldn’t he?
Still somewhat stunned by the strange direction his plan for revenge had taken, he said, ‘Close the door, Lady Annis. We have many things to discuss.’ He tried to keep his stymied anger out of his voice, but it trembled with the absence.
Her astute gaze went to Wilfrid and then the seax. Rurik tightened his fingers around it, ready to use it should she decide not to comply. It was dull, but he knew his own strength. One quick movement would have the knife embedded in Wilfrid’s vulnerable neck. Rurik could see the action play out in his mind and his body even tensed, muscles tight as they prepared to follow his command if needed.
It was his stomach that voiced a rejection. It churned, unwilling to accept what Rurik might be willing to do to mete out justice. He had never considered harming a woman or an invalid. The years since the massacre had wrought many changes in him, most of them bad. He had kidnapped, held a weapon on an innocent and many other things he would rather have missed out on in his life. Was he really prepared to add more atrocities to the list?
He hoped not to find out and clenched his jaw to hide his hesitation. The breath he had been holding slowly released when she reached behind her and closed the door. His hand kept its grip on the dagger, but his muscles relaxed, leaving his limbs numb with relief.
‘Come and sit down.’ He gestured towards the bed. ‘Wilfrid and I have been having an interesting discussion.’
She did as he asked, closing the door and taking halting steps across the room. He allowed himself a moment to admire the upward tilt of her chin, the flaming hair that escaped her plait to sweep around her shoulders and the determined glint in her eyes. She was breathtaking. There was something about her—her strength, her innate integrity—that combined with her very pleasing looks to make her special.
Like someone he could care about very much given different circumstances. Or, perhaps, someone he might be coming to care about anyway, despite the circumstances. No, that could not be right. It must be that he was mistaking respect for genuine affection. That made more sense. He could respect her while still maintaining that she was an enemy.
Of their own accord his eyes dropped to her lips as the memory of their kiss caused an echo of his earlier desire to flare to life in his belly. She drew herself up when she saw him, the very sharp-looking dagger held before her, limbs braced for action.
When she was close enough, he reached out to take the sharp dagger from her, but she pulled it back. He could not blame her. Not when he knew the actions he would resort to if needed. Respect for her increased yet again in the tiniest measure. Inclining his head, he allowed her to keep it for now. He did not want to fight her for it and alert Wilfrid that something was wrong. The house was at rest and he would keep it that way while he could until he got some answers.
‘What has he told you?’ Her eyes were wide and focused, never leaving Rurik’s, as she sat lightly on the bed. It was clear that she was ready to jump up and defend both herself and Wilfrid if needed.
‘How long has he been like this?’ Rurik asked.
Wilfrid, who had gone back to studying the table game, looked up. ‘Annis,’ he said, although it came out as one syllable with the sounds all running together. As if his speech was not to his satisfaction, Wilfrid slapped a hand on the table and gave one hard shake of his head.
Rurik glanced from Annis to the old man, taking in the lines of strain around his mouth and the deep grooves that time and pain had carved into his forehead. His hair was almost purely white and, though it was thin, it stuck out at all angles. As if noticing Rurik’s censure and determined to present her father-in-law in the best light, Annis reached over and smoothed it down on his pink scalp. The man gave her a lopsided smile filled with obvious affection.
The simple action—her touching him with such affection and the warmth with which it was received—stirred something in Rurik’s chest. He ought to look away from the tender act, but he could not risk that when she sat right there with her dagger ready. He had made the mistake of underestimating her once. The pain in his nose could attest to that. It would not happen again. The sharp bite of fury raced up to replace the tenderness. This man had ruined lives in Maerr. He was not entitled to Rurik’s leniency.
Rurik met Annis’s gaze. ‘How long?’ His voice was sharper.
She swallowed and glanced away, hesitant to answer. Finally, she said, ‘A series of brain attacks have whittled away his abilities over the past several years.’
‘But how long has he been witless?’
She looked as if he had slapped her. Rage mottled her face and her eyes turned as hard as marbles. ‘He is not witless! He is a superb player of hnefatafl, routinely besting us still.’ She gestured towards the game they were playing. Realising that her voice was raised, she stopped talking and looked over to Wilfrid who was examining them both in suspicion. In a great display of restraint, she nodded to him as if to tell him things were fine and reached over to the board.
‘Here,’ she said, taking up one of the game pieces before Rurik. ‘Your task as opponent is to trap his King—this piece—’ she pointed ‘—into one of the upper corners.’ Her well-shaped fingers placed a figurine on another square and Wilfrid grumbled. It had apparently been a good move.
The older man did not immediately move his King or any of the other pieces. Instead, he looked at the people before him, his keen gaze going from Annis to Rurik and back again. Finally, he mumbled something that sounded like, ‘Tell him.’
Rurik stared at him. He had to wonder if ‘witless’ was an apt description for Wilfrid. In those two words, he revealed that his mind was still active even if his person was starting to rebel against him. ‘Yes, tell me, Lady Annis.’
She breathed out through her nose in frustration. The dagger lay across her lap, where her fingers worried with it. ‘Several years ago he had a brain attack. Since then he has had many others. They come on suddenly, striking from nowhere and with no warning. Each of them seem to drain a bit more of his strength and leave him unable to attend to himself.’
She gave Wilfrid a quick glance as if to question whether she had said too much. He gave her a fractured nod and turned his gaze back to the table game. Her shoulders relaxed infinitesimally and she returned her attention to Rurik.
‘What have you said to him? I must warn you that—’ She broke off and glanced to Wilfrid again. Leaning towards Rurik, she lowered her voice and said, ‘I must warn you that you cannot be allowed to upset him. Any variance from his normal routine can frustrate him and send him into another attack.’
She did not have to say that another attack just might kill him. He seemed frail and half-gone from the world as it was. If Wilfrid heard them, he did not acknowledge it. Rurik had already ascertained that the man was a bit hard of hearing, but he wanted to know for certain. ‘Can he not hear you if you whisper?’
She shrugged. ‘The hearing on the weak side of his body seems to have gone.’ The older man’s weak side was the side nearest Annis.
Rurik found it odd that he was being asked to not upset the man who had had a hand in his father’s death. The very man he had come here to kill. His fingers clenched around the seax. One quick move and the man before him could be dead, his blood spilled all over his precious table game. The idea of it did not hold the same appeal it had a week ago.
What joy was there in killing a man who was simple-minded and half in his grave? Had not the gods already accomplished the justice that Rurik had been prepared to mete out? Impotent anger and bitterness roiled within him. He had come so close only to have his justice denied to him. There had to be someone else. Wilfrid could not have acted alone.
Annis’s astute gaze saw his fingers and accurately read his intentions. Her own hand gripped the hilt of her dagger where it lay beside her on her lap. ‘If you do that... I will kill you.’ The words were low and softly spoken, but no less intense because of that.
‘Perhaps I would forfeit my life to see him dead.’
Rurik’s gaze turned from the old man before him, the man that he should hate, to take her in. She seemed unusually reserved and then he recognised that serenity for what it was. It was the warrior quiet. The calm before the storm of battle. He could easily plunge the small dagger into Wilfrid’s neck, but then Rurik would have to face her. If she did not kill him, the sound of their battle would rouse other warriors. Rurik would not live out the hour. There was no question about him being taken downstairs to the cage, not when there was no reason left to keep him alive. Not when vengeance would burn in their own hearts as brightly as it had blazed in his.
Was he prepared to kill her as well? He would no doubt be forced to fight his way through her if he had a hope of making his way out of the house. The question made his fingers loosen on the seax.
‘I have not questioned him yet, if that is your concern,’ he said to her. ‘I told him that we are lovers.’ He could not help the satisfaction he felt at her reaction.
‘What?’ The colour fled her face along with her rage. She stared at him as if he had spoken in his own Norse tongue when he was very certain that he had used the Saxon words correctly.
He fought the smile that threatened to make itself known. He very much liked this sparring with her. ‘Wilfrid wanted to know why I was here, who I was. All the normal things that a person questions when finding a stranger in their bedchamber. I told him that my name is Rurik and that I am here as your lover.’
She continued to stare as if his explanation had made no sense, so he asked, ‘Would you prefer that I tell him I am here as your pris—’
‘Do not say it.’
She spoke quickly so that he would not confess the truth and risk Wilfrid hearing. Interesting. He had no idea why she would want to hide the fact that he was a captive from her father-in-law, but he was beyond intrigued. Their voices had risen to a normal conversational tone, so Wilfrid had heard this part. He gave her a nod and reached across his body with his good arm and took her hand.
Strange. Rurik had expected anger and a desire for retribution, but Wilfrid seemed perfectly content that she had taken a lover. Who were these odd people? No one here reacted as he thought they should. Continuing the odd display, Wilfrid brought her hand to his face. He mumbled something, but Rurik could not make it out.
Her eyes glazed with tears that she hastily blinked back. Wilfrid released her and went back to the game as if he were alone. He moved the King, but then also one of the pieces Rurik was supposed to control.
‘He behaves like a child.’ Rurik lowered his voice again so as not to draw Wilfrid’s attention. ‘One moment he is alert and the next he is so absorbed in his game that he does not see us.’
She nodded as pain slashed across her features. ‘I do not know if it is the result of the attacks, but there have been times when he does not even know me, but in the next instant he will call me by name.’
‘That happens often?’
She shook her head. ‘Only a few times and only late at night, like now.’
Her gaze went to Wilfrid, the table, the dagger...anywhere but Rurik. It was as if she did not want to meet his gaze and allow him to see the pain she so clearly felt. Wilfrid was beloved by her. Rurik tried to imagine his own father in a similar state as the old man found himself. Sigurd had been such a powerful man that it was impossible. Would Sigurd ever have sat so easily playing an amusement? Would he have finally welcomed Rurik’s presence at his side?
Clearing his throat, he asked, ‘Why does he not care if we are lovers?’
That question cut through the pain on her face, bringing her eyes sharply back to him. ‘How could you tell him that? It is not the truth.’
‘We did kiss.’
Her chin came up. ‘You stole a kiss.’
‘You would deny that you kissed me back?’ There had been a glorious moment when she had welcomed his kiss, her lips moving beneath his, her tongue in his mouth.
‘This is not appropriate conversation.’ Seeming to gather herself so that she was once more the Queen, lowering herself to address a servant, she asked, ‘Why are you here, Norseman? What do you want from us? Explain yourself.’
She was right. The game between them had gone on long enough. It was time to get to the truth. If the truth resulted in a fight, then Rurik would fight to the death if need be, but he would have answers. ‘I want to know why Wilfrid would want my father dead.’
There was a flicker of knowledge in her eyes. It had gone as quickly as it had appeared, but Rurik was certain he had seen it. Even as she asked the next question, he knew that she already knew the answer. ‘Who is your father?’
‘King Sigurd of Maerr. Wilfrid helped kill him two years ago and I would know why.’